


Bewitched

by LSPrincess



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Bisexual Todd Brotzman, Christmas Party, Couch Cuddles, Fluff, Hidden Talents, Jealousy, Karaoke, M/M, Piano, Post-Season/Series 02, Public Display of Affection, Singing, Todd Brotzman is Bad at Feelings, drunk fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 06:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSPrincess/pseuds/LSPrincess
Summary: A collection of oneshots where Dirk shows his hidden talent for singing. None of the stories are connected and are made to stand on their own, and all of the songs are sung by Samuel Barnett (links are provided).





	1. L'Accordeoniste

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this at ten in the morning on Thanksgiving day and finished it at 4:30 a.m. the following morning : ))  
> Honestly though, if you haven't heard Sam sing in French then have you really lived??  
> Enjoy!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the agency finally catches a break from all of their crazy antics with even crazier clients, Todd takes time out of his life to learn the piano, and Dirk "helps him out" with a song he had been struggling with.

It had been months, actual _months_ since the Cardenas case (or was it the Wendimoor case? The Moloch case? The Boy case?), and surprisingly, and more so thankfully, nothing equally as strange had occurred since. Dirk’s leg had made a splendid recovery, as had Farah, Hobbs, and Tina, and although the agency hadn't exactly been _booming,_ they _had_ received some interesting cases: a person who reported being followed by the same old oak tree since they were seven; a girl who could allegedly predict the tragedies to occur in her family whenever she drank a certain brew of coffee; a “demon house” that couldn't be burnt down; a door that couldn't be opened (and on top of that, it was a door attached to a room not present in any blueprints); and, Dirk’s favorite case and one which he had enthused about how much potential it had for days after, a person who claimed that the house they were living inside of was, in fact, a dragon that was able to disguise itself as a desolate 1960’s double-story building with a rotting a-line roof — this client, much to Dirk’s surprise (and not so much to Todd’s), had nearly killed with them with a sawed off shotgun once they had begun expressing their doubts.

Now, they were back in the agency, and were relieved (and one specific person was rather dejected) by the lack of clients. Also, thanks to their gradual accumulation of money, Todd had been able to broaden his instrumental horizon, and had purchased a baby grand piano, which was now nestled in the corner of the agency. Everyone was so encouraging and supportive of the new skill that he was trying to pick up that he almost burst with pride, feeling a good six inches taller after just the first few moments of having the piano in its new permanent home.

“Todd, please stop fucking around with that piece of junk and get your damn shoes on.”

Well, _almost_ everyone was encouraging and supportive. Amanda seemed to thrive off of crushing Todd’s dreams and putting him down — it was, after all, what made her Amanda.

Todd took a deep breath and prepared to reply to his sister’s hectoring, but Dirk beat him to it, and Todd was suddenly more than thankful for Dirk’s place in his life.

“Pardon me, Amanda, but that young grand is the _farthest_ thing from a piece of junk!” he protested, squaring his shoulders. Todd wasn't sure how many times he told him that the term “baby” had nothing to do with the instrument’s age and rather referred to its size in comparison to an actual grand piano, but he seemed it would be futile to remind him again, especially in front of all of his friends.

It was the Rowdy 3’s (or, rather, the Rowdy _6’s_ ) and Dirk’s first Independence Day celebration, and Todd figured it was rather appropriate, considering their recent independence from Blackwing.

While Dirk wasn't necessarily completely American and Todd doubted any of them had any knowledge of the country’s history, they seemed more than enthusiastic to celebrate with the rest of them. ( _“Fireworks,_ Todd? You must be joking — why would I _ever_ want to miss out on fireworks and friends? Hey, they both start with _f!_ Now it’s _bound_ to be a good time!”)

“Yeah, okay, uh, first of all: Dirk’s right, this is _not_ a piece of junk, I spent about eight thousand dollars on it, and second of all: I _have_ my shoes on.”

“Todd, in almost complete disregard to my defending you, why _are_ you so insistent upon _fiddling_ with this thing? It’s not like today is the _only_ day you can learn it,” Dirk inquired, walking over and sitting on the bench next to Todd in the space that he had instinctively freed up.

“No, I…I've learned it for the most part, it’s just this… _song,_ it’s a pain in the ass — I’ll never move on if I can’t play it!”

“He’s right,” Amanda said with a sigh, leaning against the wall and exasperatedly running a hand through her hair. “His obstinacy is probably his biggest flaw.”

“Nonsense!” Dirk gasped, shaking his head. “Todd has absolutely _no_ flaws and — wait is that ‘ _[L’Accordeoniste](https://youtu.be/-EWoXI4YP7Q) _’?” It took Todd a moment of stuttering and erratic blinking to realize that Dirk’s attention had been redirected to the sheet music.

He glanced over as well, eyeing the title at the top of the page, and was startled to realize how immaculately Dirk had pronounced it — he himself had been so frustrated with it that he had resorted to referring to it simply as “Le Accordion.”

“Uh…yes? Probably? I’m assuming that’s the…correct pronunciation,” Todd said, scratching the back of his head and letting his eyes bounce back and forth between Dirk and the music he had been so flustered over.

“Ohhh, Todd, scooch, _scooch!”_ Dirk insisted, practically shoving the shorter man off of the bench. Todd stumbled toward Farah, fighting to regain his balance, and stood back, crossing his arms and studying Dirk as he hovered his shaking fingers over the ivory keys.

“What is he _doing?”_ Farah whispered, leaning closer to Todd, who simply shrugged in response. He was as confused as anyone else in the room — except, perhaps…Martin? Todd furrowed his brow at the tall southerner, whose lips were drawn up in a knowing smirk.

“I haven’t played this in _so long,”_ Dirk whispered, and that caught Todd’s attention faster than anything ever had. He whipped his head around so suddenly he was sure he had whiplash, and opened his mouth to ask what Dirk could possibly mean by that, but his mind had barely formed a sentence before Dirk’s long, thin fingers began dancing over the keys with a speed Todd had never seen before.

The music filled the room, bouncing off of the walls and drowning out any other sound, from the loudest scream to the softest sigh. It practically slapped Todd in the face, and he could do nothing but stare, _gape_ at Dirk as he coaxed the piano into cooperation, letting the notes in front of him carry him away like a ferry.

If the instrumental hadn’t already had Todd reeling, what happened next certainly would have — Dirk began to _sing._ Actually _sing_ the words, the strange foreign words that were printed above the notes, and Todd felt the sudden need to sit down from the way his head swam at the sound of them, the way they rolled off of Dirk’s tongue like they were meant to be there, like they _belonged._

 _La fille de joie est belle_  
_Au coin de la rue là-bas._  
_Elle a une clientèle  
Qui lui remplit son bas…_

It had never occurred to Todd to try and _sing along_ with the music while he had been playing it — singing just simply had never been in the cards for him. For Mexican Funeral, he played the guitar and that was _it,_ nothing else. He’d sung before, sure: in the shower, under his breath, and occasionally in dreams (though, granted, he was always blessed with a godlike voice in those). But this was real, wasn't it? This wasn't a dream, and there _was_ someone with a godlike voice right here, right here in front of him playing the song he had been struggling with for days as effortlessly as one might breathe.

 _Quand son boulot s'achève_ _  
_ _Elle s'en va à son tour_ _  
_ _Chercher un peu de rêve_  
_Dans un bal du faubourg…_

A rustling off to the side only slightly concerned Todd, and he felt the nagging desire to check, but something inside of him kept him glued to his spot, kept his eyes locked on Dirk’s profile — if he looked away, he might miss it.

(It??? Miss what???)

Something, Todd was sure. If he were to look away even for a moment, something spectacular would happen and he would _miss it._

 _Son homme est un artiste_ _  
_ _C'est un drôle de petit gars_ _  
_ _Un accordéoniste_  
_Qui sait jouer la java…_

Dirk’s entire body jerked as he kept beat with the music, his eyes dark and glassy as they slid over the notes in front of his face — he didn't even have to look at the keys, the mark of a true piano player, a signature skill that Todd might have expected to find anywhere else but here, here in the agency, here where Dirk was the one exercising that skill, here where Dirk was _playing the piano like a god and singing in French._

 _Elle écoute la java_ _  
_ _Mais elle ne la danse pas_ _  
_ _Elle ne regarde même pas la piste_ _  
_ _Et ses yeux amoureux_ _  
_ _Suivent le jeu nerveux_ _  
_ _Et les doigts secs et longues de l'artiste_ _  
_ _Ça lui rentre dans la peau_ _  
_ _Par le bas, par le haut_ _  
_ _Elle a envie de chanter c'est physique_ _  
_ _Tout son être est tendu_ _  
_ _Son souffle est suspendu_  
_C'est une vraie tordue de la musique!_

Dirk’s entire body was moving with the music now: his head was bobbing, his shoulders were lurching with the beat, his foot keeping time. For a moment, Todd doubted he had ever seen him move this much, had ever seen him look so _alive_ — he was practically glowing in his blinding sunflower yellow jacket and…and the _smile_ that was splitting his face, why, it practically radiated its own light. Todd felt the sudden urge to look away, to shield his eyes, his innate instinct to not stare into the sun almost overwhelming him, but he fought it, and he was so glad that he did. In a split second Dirk’s entire demeanor shifted, and he was back to being still and composed, his eyes back to being distant but adorably concentrated, his brow furrowing and his lips pursing around every other word.

 _La fille de joie est triste_ _  
_ _Au coin de la rue là-bas_ _  
_ _Son accordéoniste_  
_Il est parti soldat…_

Out of his peripherals, Todd could see the blurry, amorphous whiteness that was undoubtedly Mona burst into life, and she padded over to stand next to Todd, her fingers tugging at the slack of his sleeve.

“I haven’t heard him play in a very long time,” she said, her naturally squeaky voice now at least two octaves higher and several volumes softer. Apparently, her words were meant only for Todd, who forced himself to look away from Dirk just for a moment — just a _moment_ — to gauge Martin’s reaction. When his eyes settled upon his characteristically impassive face, he was surprised to see a smile there, a _genuine,_ smug smile. He looked back to Dirk almost instantaneously.

 _Quand y reviendra de la guerre_ _  
_ _Ils prendront une maison_ _  
_ _Elle sera la caissière_ _  
_ _Et lui, sera le patron_ _  
_ _Que la vie sera belle_ _  
_ _Ils seront de vrais pachas_ _  
_ _Et tous les soirs pour elle_  
_Il jouera la java…_

Again, as if someone had flipped a switch, Dirk’s entire countenance shifted, and he was back to being a blinding ray of sunshine, his eyes wide and glowing, his teeth bared in a radiant smile, and his entire sickeningly yellow form rocking back and forth on the bench in time with the music. Todd considered, for a moment, that this might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

 _Elle écoute la java_ _  
_ _Qu'elle fredonne tout bas_ _  
_ _Elle revoit son accordéoniste_ _  
_ _Et ses yeux amoureux_ _  
_ _Suivent le jeu nerveux_ _  
_ _Et les doigts secs et longs de l'artiste_ _  
_ _Ça lui rentre dans la peau_ _  
_ _Par le bas, par le haut_ _  
_ _Elle a envie pleurer c'est physique_ _  
_ _Tout son être est tendu_ _  
_ _Son souffle est suspendu_  
_C'est une vraie tordue de la musique!_

Again with the key change, and again Dirk’s face shifted and his body stilled. The race of his fingers across the keys slowed to a leisurely twinkling, but it was faster this time, and Todd noticed from the creases around the shoulders of Dirk’s jacket that he was still tense, his muscles taut and ready to spring back into action. Oh, how Todd was ready, too.

 _La fille de joie est seule_ _  
_ _Au coin de la rue là-bas_ _  
_ _Les filles qui font la gueule_ _  
_ _Les hommes n'en veulent pas_ _  
_ _Et tant pis si elle crève_ _  
_ _Son homme ne reviendra plus_ _  
_ _Adieux tous les beaux rêves_  
_Sa vie elle est foutue…_

The way his voice dipped to a pitch Todd had never heard before was almost enough to knock him out cold. He made fists with his hands and felt his toes curl in his shoes. Chills raced up his arms and down his spine, making his legs wobble and stars flash before his eyes, and he thought he might _actually_ be dying. There were worse ways to go, he figured. Died from Dirk Gently’s deep and sexy singing voice wouldn't look _too_ bad on a death certificate, right? He could see his tombstone now: _Here lies Todd Brotzman, 1981 - 2018. Died doing what he loved_ _—_ _getting a massive musical erection whilst listening to his best friend absolutely show his ass up at playing the piano._ Yes. That was perfect.

 _Pourtant ses jambes tristes_ _  
_ _L'emmènent au boui-boui_ _  
_ _Où y a un autre artiste_  
_Qui joue toute la nuit..._

Okay. Yes. _Now_ he was dead. Dirk Gently belting in his deep and sexy singing voice? Yes. _Now_ he was ready for the ground because he’d seen it all. _Heard_ it all, too.

(No! Finish the song and _then_ you can die, pussy.)

It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, because Dirk leaped into the next verse as hastily as one might leap into a pool on a smoldering summer day, and oh, the way he _moved._ _How_ had Todd not passed out yet? He was quite sure he’d stopped breathing the minute Dirk’s fingers had touched the keys.

 _Elle écoute la java_ _  
_ _Elle entend la java…_ _  
_ _Elle a fermé les yeux…_ _  
_ _Et doigts secs et nerveux_ _  
_ _Ça lui rentre dans la peau_ _  
_ _Par le bas, par le haut_ _  
_ _Elle a envie gueuler c'est physique_ _  
_ _Alors pour oublier_ _  
_ _Elle s'est mise à danser, à tourner_  
_Au son de la musique…_

The way Dirk spat the lyrics out one after the other — the end of one word and the begging of another almost overlapping each other — reminded Todd of the way he sometimes spoke when he got too excited, how his mouth would sprint and his tongue would trip over itself in their haste to keep up with his brain, how his eyes would grow wide and his pupils would dilate and he would gesticulate wildly. In all honesty, Todd was rather grateful for the visual aid, albeit nonsensical and incomprehensible, not unlike the words falling from Dirk’s mouth like rushing water over a cliff side.

But oh, the music didn't slow, and neither did Dirk — his eyes stayed wide, his smile stayed blinding, his muscles stayed moving, and Todd was ready, was bracing himself against whatever was nearest (which happened to be Mona on one side, Farah on the other, and the wall behind him) because he might _actually_ fall down if the finale was _anything_ to compare to Dirk belting.

Suddenly the air was strained, palpable and electric, and Dirk’s entire body went as stiff as a board, his head tilted towards the ceiling.

 _ARRÊTEZ!!_ _  
_ _Arrêtez la musique!_

The final notes struck by Dirk’s fingers heralded the utter and shameful drop of Todd’s jaw, and now he knew — nay, was _certain_ — nay, was incontrovertibly _positive_ that this was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen: Dirk’s head tilted back, his fingers hovering over the keys of a piano _Todd_ owned, his face red, his eyes pinched shut, his mouth open and the muscles in his neck visibly moving as he cried out the last words of the song with more emotion than Todd thought possible. Though he couldn't understand a damn word that was just spoken, he felt the need to cry, felt that this song wasn’t as happy and exuberant as the score may lead one to believe, and it didn't matter that Todd didn't understand it because Dirk _did,_ and he _felt_ the song and he _sang_ the song and he _was_ the song, and if Todd didn't have Farah and Mona to hold on to he might have actually wound up on his knees sobbing and screaming his praise.

Dirk let out a shaky breath and spun around, his eyes bright with pride and his cheeks pink from the rush. His blinding smile only began to falter when he realized that no one was speaking and they were all just standing there, gawping at him.

“What? Why are you all looking at me like that? I _told you_ I hadn’t played it in a while! Yeah, so _maybe_ my pronunciations were a little rusty and _maybe_ I couldn't play it as quickly as I once was able to, but it wasn’t _that_ bad, right? _Right?”_

Todd didn't know what to do — his brain was alive and whirling, screaming at him to move, to clap, to squeak or cry or do _something,_ but his muscles were tensed and his joints were stiff and his jaw was locked in an eternal soundless scream, and Dirk was in the spotlight, a place he had never felt very comfortable, and all anyone was doing was _staring at him._

He had to do something.

So he breathed.

Or rather, let a ragged, sobbing gasp rip through his body like a bulldozer, and suddenly his whole body was awake, and he was able to ease his vice grip on Farah and Mona. He raked his fingers through his hair, panting and blinking tears from his eyes, and the look on Dirk’s expression was exclusively raw concern.

“You…” Todd began, his voice hoarse and cracking as if he actually _had_ been screaming, but in an octave only dogs could hear. He cleared his throat and spoke again, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his face up in strange expressions, trying to get the feeling back in _some_ part of his body. “You can sing…”

Dirk narrowed his eyes and blew his breath out in a brief, dry laugh. _“Yes,_ Todd, I’d hoped that was _fairly_ obvious by now. But…nice observational skills nonetheless! You did always have a _knack_ for stating the obvious.”

“Y-You…You can play the…piano?” Farah offered weakly, her face remaining deadpan, her words falling flat as if they were weighed down by stones.

“What? Yes, I can — Christ, does _anyone_ have _anything_ to say that has _nothing_ to do with the obvious fact that I am musically proficient?”

Dirk leaned forward to stress his words, his eyes wide and apprehensive, and Todd expected no one to speak, but he couldn't say he was _too_ surprised to hear his sister’s shaky voice.

“You know…French?”

“Oh, _bloody hell!”_ Dirk cried, throwing his hands up in the air and spinning around on the piano bench. He quickly pounded out a few short chords on the piano, did a quick sing-through of the common solmization with dizzying speed, then whirled around in his seat and directed his next words at Amanda, whatever they were.

 _“C'est notre première Fête de l'Indépendance ensemble et vous le dépensez me demandant si je peux parler le français quand je viens de chanter une chanson entière en français!_ So… _there! Yes,_ I can play the piano, _yes_ I can sing, and _yes_ I can speak French. I didn’t expect it to make you all deaf and dumb!”

There was another span of uncomfortable silence where Dirk kept staring at Todd, Farah, and Amanda expectantly, waiting for (almost _daring_ ) them to say something else, _anything_ else. However, it was Martin who spoke first.

“Who knew? Haven’t heard ya do that in twenty some years. Thought ya lost it after Riggins stopped givin' you lessons,” he said, and simply left it at that, turning on his heel and bounding off toward the van.

Dirk stared after him, the beginnings of a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but he stopped himself, and turned back to the other eight people in the room, who were still trying to wrap their heads around the previous turn of events.

“Todd, Farah, _come on._ I just want to have a good Independence Day!” Dirk groaned, massaging his temples.

Todd gulped down his awe and stumbled forward, attracting Dirk’s attention and offering him a weak smile in reply. “A-All right. Come on. We’ll get on the road.”

Dirk jumped up suddenly, his face bright with excitement, and clambered over the piano bench, sprinting to the door.

“Shotgun, I call shotgun! I called it, no one else can…” His voice trailed off until he was just a distant buzzing outside, like a fly in Todd’s ear.

“Ohh, I think this is going to be the _best_ Independence Day _ever!”_ Mona’s soft voice came, but when Todd turned to reply, he saw that her human form had been replaced by a packet of paper.

He stooped to pick it up and glanced at the cover, seeing the words “Star Spangled Banner” printed across it in bold letters, and he understood her meaning as if _he_ had been the one that decided to turn into a new set of sheet music: the only way this Independence Day could get any better was if they could get Dirk to sing like that again.


	2. Bothered and Bewildered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another client, another solved case, and before the universe can launch the newly founded Holistic Detective Agency into yet _another_ hectic, labyrinthine case of (mostly) unpredictable twists and turns, Todd proposes they go for a drink, and Dirk is introduced to the wonderful concept of karaoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got angsty and it wasn't supposed to????? Also, for the record, I just _really_ love writing drunk scenes.

“So… _what_ are they doing?” Dirk asked, dragging Todd’s attention away from the cute bartender that had just walked off to attend to someone else, her hips swaying tantalizingly as she cast a wink over her shoulder at him.

“Wha’?” he asked, blinking away his haze; he wasn’t sure if it was the effect of the alcohol or that damn _look_ that bartender had been giving him, but he felt very…out of touch with everything.

He turned on the barstool toward Dirk, who was idly stirring his Coke and rum with a straw. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance, and he wouldn't even cast Todd a glance, not even when he nudged his knee to be sure he had his attention.

Todd had never been very good at reading ones expressions ( _especially_ when intoxicated), but he knew it was _wrong_ for Dirk to act this way. He hardly ever ignored Todd ( _especially_ when intoxicated and _especially_ when Todd touched him, even if it was just a graze of their kneecaps).

“The people. On the stage,” he said curtly, turning to take another sip of his drink, his head seeming to be _deliberately_ lowered so as to avoid making eye contact.

Todd blinked at Dirk out of bewilderment once, twice, three times before he turned his attention to the stage at the far side of the bar. It was currently being occupied by a startlingly tall and unattractively mannish woman who was belting Frank Sinatra to the encouragement of who Todd assumed to be her significant other.

The agency had just solved another exhausting and insanely taxing case involving a man, his doppelganger, their unintentionally shared wife, her cousin, and an extraordinarily intimidating Saint Bernard that Dirk claimed to have seen smile menacingly “at least _twice,_ Todd!”

It was the day after and Dirk had already been enthusiastic to start a new case, his bright expression belying the dark circles around his eyes _almost_ enough to convince Todd that he was fine. He and Farah, however, were in no such state. They were practically dragging themselves from room to room, bed to kitchen, kitchen to chair, chair to couch.

Todd had never been a very religious man, but during that case he had _seriously_ considered regarding coffee as his Lord and Savior. When he had proposed the idea of turning the agency into a church for such a religion, however, Farah had tossed the last dregs of her own coffee on his shirt and then walked away; Dirk had berated her for “unnecessary aggression in the workplace.”

It wasn’t until quarter to two that Todd had actually pitched the idea of going to a bar to relax. Why he hadn’t considered it before, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he had still been recovering from the blow to the head that had been mercilessly delivered by their client’s doppelganger, who was certainly too tall and _unfairly_ strong. It had been an unforeseen, unjust, and frankly unnecessary attack, and although Todd had been diagnosed with a concussion, the stark concern and compassion that had lined Dirk’s face for days after had almost made it worth it.

In regards to the idea of drinking and dancing and cutting loose at a bar, Farah had seemed a little overeager, and Dirk had been extraordinarily hesitant.

“What if that bloody _demon dog_ is there, Todd?” That’s what Dirk had said — that had been his explanation for his aggravating trepidation. As ludicrous as his reasoning was, Todd could understand where he was coming from. That dog had been a frankly _monstrous_ menace to the case, and it had nearly torn an alarming range of Dirk’s extremities off. Disregarding this information, however, Todd had worked to abate Dirk’s fears.

“Pets typically aren't _allowed_ in bars, Dirk. And besides, I’m _pretty_ sure I saw crazy-wife-Alisha’s crazy-cousin-Talitha shoot it in the head.” A blatant lie, but one that Farah had affirmed without missing a beat. Until this point, she had maintained an aversion to Todd’s irrational lies that were rattled off in an effort to comfort Dirk’s own irrationality, but now that drinking and dancing were at risk, she seemed more than eager to play along.

“Yeah! A-And I was still a little woozy from taking down Drake-the-doppelganger after he took a two-by-four to Todd’s head, but I’m pretty sure I went and shot it too for good measure!”

Something inside of Todd that hadn’t been there before Dirk’s appearance in his apartment nearly four months ago told him that karma was going to bite them in the ass later for all of this relentless lying (quite literally, perhaps, and in the form of a massive, beastly dog with the _sharpest teeth Todd had ever seen in his life_.)

Bad decisions and crazy stories aside, they _had_ managed to convince Dirk to accompany them for a drink, even if he still spent the entire ride grumbling about “that demon dog” and how he “had no idea what he was even going to order.”

Todd figured he was able to help him with one of those issues, and after a lengthy conversation concerning Dirk’s taste in beverages, Todd had suggested he order rum and Coke. Just for shits and giggles.

Despite his distaste for the concept of the drink (“ _Rum,_ Todd? Isn't that the rubbish that pirates drink?”), he had managed to choke it down and order another, the alcohol already working wonders on his fastidiousness.

Todd and Farah had simply ordered beers, and Farah had downed hers in one swig, impressing half the men at the bar enough to whoop in appreciation and startling Todd and Dirk enough to make them sit there and silently contemplate their own half-full glasses.

Todd’s silence hadn’t lasted very long, however, because soon the pretty bartender with a slight Jersey drawl and a very distracting cup-size had asked him if he’d like a refill, and he had been perhaps a little too hasty to accept. She hadn’t gone to fetch it immediately, however, and instead had jumped into idle chit-chat, asking him where he was from (right here in town), what was the occasion (I have a concussion), and who were his friends (a person who broke into my house and someone I liberated from the possession of a soul-swapped rock star — yes, of course I’m joking, I’m not _that_ drunk.)

They had continued the conversation even after she’d returned with another beer, teasing him by taking an unnecessarily promiscuous sip of his drink (“Do you mind? I’m parched.”), bending over the counter so that her cleavage ( _Christ_ how were her tits that big???) was on full display.

Farah had become fed up with this display rather quickly, and had abruptly excused herself to go to the restroom.

And now they were here, the pretty blonde bartender with her ice blue eyes and disproportionate breasts tending to an obnoxiously loud man at the other end of the bar, Dirk actively avoiding meeting Todd’s eye, and Todd baffled by both people’s behavior.

“They’re…They’re singing, Dirk. It’s a karaoke bar.”

“A what?” The muscles in Dirk’s neck seemed to flex, as if he were preparing to lift his head to meet Todd’s eye, but he fought it, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the restrooms and taking another long sip of his drink. Todd followed his gaze almost desperately, and it dawned on him that Farah had yet to return. Perhaps she had passed out or was throwing up? Both seemed unlikely possibilities — Farah was the kind of person you expected to hold their alcohol _shockingly_ well.

“A…It’s…” Why had Todd expected Dirk to know what karaoke was? The poor guy hardly knew what rum was outside of the pirate stereotype. “A…A karaoke bar,” he finally managed, shifting in his seat so that he was angled towards his friend (who _still_ wouldn't meet his eye. Had Todd missed something?) “It’s a bar — of course — but…you can sing for people. You get up on the stage and…I dunno, you pick a song and sing it. Most of the time people are _very_ drunk when they do it — it helps make the embarrassment of the whole thing more tolerable.”

Dirk drummed his fingers on the scratched surface of the bar, running his tongue over his teeth in thought, his brow furrowed. Todd wasn’t sure how long he actually _spent_ doing that, but by the time he spoke again, Farah was bounding her way over to them, a formidable look on her face. It was unusual, Todd realized after casting her a cursory glance. She was hardly ever cross with him nowadays ( _especially_ when intoxicated — they seemed to have a theme going.)

“Well, then,” Dirk began, throwing his drink back and cringing at the burn. “I guess I’ll have to start drinking a little faster.”

Todd felt his heart skip a few beats and he was sure that if he had been a little tipsier he would have fallen out of his seat. “What — I mean — are you—?”

“Todd Brotzman!”

This time he _did_ fall out of his seat. Right onto the floor.

Surprisingly, that didn't attract _nearly_ as much attention as Farah’s booming voice had, which had made all people at the bar (drunk and newly arrived alike) flinch. Todd stared up into her cold, dark eyes, a small pool of fear rippling inside of him.

“Farah—” Dirk began, but she held up a hand, silencing him immediately.

“Todd, a word, _now.”_

She spun around and stomped back to the restroom, leaving him dizzy and nauseous on the floor from the fall.

“Todd, are you…?” Dirk asked slowly, his voice saturated with concern, but when Todd looked up ( _very_ slowly, mind you — the last thing he needed was to prematurely vomit everywhere) to reply, Dirk was staring at his empty glass, biting his lip and practically shaking with the effort of not helping Todd up.

What. The. Hell. What had he _missed?_

 _“Missed?”_ Farah spat once he had repeated the question to her. “What have you _missed,_ Todd? Let’s see, how about we start with Dirk? Hm?”

“Dirk?” Todd echoed, narrowing his eyes and rubbing his hand very gently over the back of his head where he had bumped it on the stool. “W-What—”

 _“That’s_ what you've missed, Todd! You've missed _everything_ that’s been going on since that bartender started talking to you. Which, to be frank, her boobs are _not_ real, I hope you know that.”

“Farah—”

“Have you not _seen_ the looks Dirk’s been giving you? Have you not _seen_ the looks he’s _not_ been giving you? Have you not _noticed_ that the poor guy is going to such extremes to avoid meeting your _eye?”_

Well…no, he hadn’t. He hadn’t really thought about it, not until now. But…now that he _was,_ he realized that Dirk had stopped speaking about the time Todd and the bartender had started acquainting themselves with one another, and it was about that time that Farah had gotten up and left. No, he hadn’t thought about it, but certainly now that he _was_ he supposed she must have seen Dirk’s expression. Dirk’s pained, forlorn expression.

Shit.

What _had_ he missed?

“Todd!” Farah shouted, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He jumped, refocusing his attention on Farah, who still seemed as angry as ever. “Stop zoning out and _focus_ for two-and-a-half seconds! You have _crushed_ your best friend, so you need to _get your ass over there_ and _apologize!”_

“B-But—” Todd began, but the look Farah gave him had him spinning on his heel and marching back to the bar in the blink of an eye. He had _wanted_ to ask her what he should say, what he should apologize for. Was it such a sin for him to have some _fun_ for once in his life? The bartender had been interested in _him_ — _she_ had initiated the flirting, certainly not him! Certainly not…

Or had he?

“Todd!” Dirk exclaimed, and Todd was frankly dizzied by the sudden change in attitude when Dirk spun around and gripped him by the arms, forcing him down on the stool. He wasn’t sure what had happened in the time he had been gone, but _something_ certainly _had,_ because Dirk apparently couldn't _stop_ meeting Todd’s eye now, his own gaze bright but distant.

“Dirk, I have to—”

“Todd, you won’t _believe_ this, you simply _won’t_ — do you see these little glasses?” Dirk interrupted, lifting up one of the empty shot glasses that Todd had just noticed. He nodded, his jaw flapping and his tongue moving heavily with words he wished to say, but even if he could get his vocal chords to cooperate, he doubted he would ever get a chance to speak with Dirk rambling the way he was. “These little things — these _blessed_ little things! — they hold such _little_ alcohol but it has _such_ a strong effect!” Dirk said with an enthusiastic giggle. “Now, I've just had _two,_ and I _strongly_ recommend you have some as well. You will not _believe_ how exhilarating—”

“Wait, slow down — you took _shots?”_ Todd asked dubiously, his eyebrows all but flying off of his face. “Wh…Where did you get _shots?”_

“That very nice barkeep you were chatting with,” Dirk explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I hadn’t thought it was that far of a stretch. Brittany, love, will you come here for a moment?” Dirk called, leaning over the bar to the point that Todd placed his hand on his back to steady him, lest he plummet over it.

The well-endowed bartender jumped with surprise, but beamed and walked over nonetheless. “Hi-ya, Dirk, sweetie, what can I get you?”

“Two more of these, please, I am simply _infatuated_ with them,” Dirk slurred, propping his head on his hand and batting his eyelashes.

“Wait, uh — _Brittany_ — why the hell did you give him shots?” Todd asked, catching the lady by the wrist before she could fetch more alcohol.

Brittany (it hadn’t occurred to Todd that he had never asked her name) blinked at him curiously, as if just now noticing him. Subtly (yet a little harshly), she broke free of Todd’s grasp, wiping her hand off on her skirt as if Todd had dirtied her with his touch.

“He wanted to know what could get him drunk the fastest, and I said shots would,” she said innocently, her icy eyes wide and her long blonde lashes sparkling in the golden light of the bar.

“Yes, that is _true_ — however I had been _very_ reluctant once she said _‘shots’_ , I thought: ‘How can you get drunk from being _shot?’_ Because it certainly _never_ worked for me, no. If anything it made me sad and…achy,” Dirk babbled, his eyebrows arching and his eyes growing glassy with thought.

“Has he…been _shot_ before?” Brittany asked quietly, studying Dirk with a mix of interest, fondness, and slight concern.

Todd sighed and massaged his temples, considering, for a moment, what a blessing a shot (or  _being_ shot) would be.

“Too many times,” he answered, wrapping his arms tightly around Dirk’s waist and heaving him back into his seat, grunting with the effort and wincing at the way it made his head throb.

“Whoa!” Dirk shouted with a sudden burst of laughter, flailing his arms as if he were about to fall from a deadly height. “You’re getting a little _handsy_ there, Todd — are you _sure_ you haven’t been taking shots?”

“Dirk, I’m _positive_ — I've only had two beers. You've had two Cuba Libres and two — oh, for Christ’s sake!”

Two more shots were placed in front of Dirk with a wink and a smug smile at Todd before Brittany bounded off again; Todd was beginning to think the hip-sway was just the way she walked.

Dirk beamed and snatched the glasses up, spilling some of the precious liquid before throwing it back, hissing and shaking his head in an effort to expel the tears from his eyes.

“Dirk, why are you—?”

“Brittany, _looovee,_ _another_ round, please!” Dirk shouted, throwing his head back and practically screaming his request to the heavens. He went to pick up the second glass, but Todd caught his hand, pinning it to the bar.

 _“No,_ Dirk, _listen_ to me! I want to—”

“I _am_ listenin’ to you, _Todd,_ don’t be such an arse!” Dirk said with a shake of his head, his bright smile contradicting his harsh words almost to the point of invalidity. He snaked his other hand — his _free_ hand — over Todd’s arm and plucked the shot glass from the bar before Todd could stop him, tossing it back so fast some of it splashed onto his face. Todd was about to ask him if he was okay when Dirk slammed the glass down with a gut-laugh that shook his entire frame, wiping his hand over his face and licking the alcohol from his palm.

“Dirk, sweetie, perhaps you should slow down,” Brittany’s voice came, her sudden appearance surprising but not unexpected. Todd shot her thankful glance, sliding the glasses toward himself before Dirk could have them refilled.

 _“Why_ are you _both_ so _insistent_ upon _ruining_ my _fun?!”_ Dirk asked, rolling his eyes. The way he stressed his words left Todd reeling for a moment, his head swimming, but he managed to pin Dirk’s arms down before he could pick up the shot glasses he was subtly yet not-so-subtly reaching for.

“Dirk, _please_ listen to me! I want to _apologize!”_

Dirk blinked up at him, his cheeks and nose a dark shade of pink and his eyes wide and glittering. As Todd stared at them, however, he realized it wasn’t a _pleasant_ glitter. It wasn’t like the reflection of light off the surface of a lake it was…it was like the reflection of light off a pile of broken glass. Dirk’s eyes were _broken,_ but glittering nonetheless, providing them with an inappropriate element of iridescent beauty. If Dirk’s eyes _had_ been a sparkling lake, Todd knew he would have drowned in them by now. Instead, he was cutting himself on them as he fumbled to piece them back together.

“Apologize?” he said at last, blinking heavily. “Why…Oh, Todd, there’s nothing to apologize _for._ It’s _my_ fault — I should have known better.”

Well, what the hell did _that_ mean? Why did talking to Dirk have to be so _goddamn difficult?_

“You…What? No, Dirk, this is _my_ fault.” Todd didn't entirely _believe_ that, in all honesty, considering he still had _absolutely no fucking clue what he was apologizing for._ However, he _did_ know how to lie. Goddamn him, he _knew_ how to lie.

“Todd, you’re doing that thing where you’re being silly again,” Dirk mumbled, wriggling out of Todd’s grasp. “I…I was being foolish, and childish, as it seems I am wont to do. It’s _my_ fault, Todd. Entirely. That fact is non-negotiable.”

Todd studied Dirk’s profile for any sign that he was joking — because he _must_ be joking, right? He seemed so… _passionate_ about whatever it was he was apologizing for (whatever it was _Todd_ was apologizing for), and that simply couldn't be _right._ There was no _way_ Todd had missed something _that big,_ something that had _that_ strong of an effect on his best friend.

“Is…” Todd began, but his voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Is that why you’re…drinking…so heavily?”

This seemed to startle Dirk more than anything had in the past few moments, and he practically jumped out of his seat, his eyes wide and bugging out of his head.

“What? No, of course not! I’m drinking because you said people tend to be drunk before they sing karaoke. Which, if you’ll excuse me, seems to be at the _top_ of my agenda at the moment,” Dirk said with a lopsided smile, and before Todd could do anything to stop him, he was falling out of his seat and stumbling to the other side of the bar toward the stage, just as the mannish woman was getting down.

Todd’s heart was in his throat, and he could tell by the look on Farah’s face that she must feel the same way: anxious and extremely frustrated.

“I think I’ll take that shot now,” Todd said, turning in his seat and pushing forward the glasses that he had confiscated from Dirk.

 

It hadn’t taken five minutes for Dirk to gain access to the stage, and in that time Todd was basically on the same level of intoxication as Dirk, both of them having consumed two glasses of their original order and four shots. His anxiety had subsided, and now he was just… _excited._ Excited to see Dirk make a fool of himself — he wasn’t quite sure why this was such a thrilling concept, to be honest. Dirk made a fool of himself at _least_ three times every case.

He had begun chatting with Brittany again, sharing Dirk stories and loosely explaining what they did for a living — the sheer absurdity of the tales seemed funnier to her than the fact that they were all true.

As he began to delve into the story of the time Dirk slipped down a small incline and sprained his ankle, there was a scratchy, fuzzy sound that reverberated through the speakers, and Todd looked up to see Dirk tapping the microphone, mimicking the actions of the other singers he had apparently been so closely studying.

Todd shifted in his seat so that he was facing the stage entirely, and threw back his most recent shot — number five, down the hatch. He was feeling better already. Why had he _stopped_ feeling good? He couldn't quite remember.

Dirk glanced around the room nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt, and it dawned on Todd that perhaps the poor guy actually _hadn’t_ had enough to drink — he still seemed _far_ too self-conscious. Todd was about to turn to Brittany and order another two that he could take to his friend when the music began, and suddenly he couldn't move.

It was a piano — that’s what that sound was. A piano that was putting out a slow, melancholy tune, and Todd felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Whether they were from the music or the fact that all of his anxiety came rushing back to him like a smothering tide he wasn’t sure, but he did manage to fight them nonetheless.

Dirk shot one last look around the bar, closed his eyes, took in a breath that visibly made him shake, and began [singing.](https://youtu.be/_4F9kP2iwnQ)

 _He’s a fool and don’t I know it  
_ _But a fool can have his charms_ _  
_ _I’m in love and don’t I show it_ _  
_ _Like a babe in arms_

Oh. Okay. Yeah. Um…Yeah…He can—

“...sing!” Brittany gasped, finishing Todd’s thought. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me he could _sing,_ Todd?” she gushed, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. If Todd’s eyes hadn’t been glued to his friend’s blinding yellow form, he knew he would have found her enthusiasm quite distracting.

“I…” Todd began, but he seemed almost entirely incapable of speaking, all thoughts in his head fading and evaporating, all words besides the ones coming from the speakers going in one ear and out the other.

 _Love’s the same old sad sensation_ _  
_ _Lately I've not slept a wink_ _  
_ _Since this half-pint imitation_ _  
_ _Put me on the blink_

Yes. Oh, _yes,_ he could sing, but he could do so much more than that. He could keep beat, sing in rhythm — which was something the majority of people here struggled with anyway, and if the consumption of alcohol had _any_ negative effects, brain-to-mouth coordination was certainly at the top of that list.

But there was something more. Something… _stronger_ in the way Dirk sang the song, as if he… _felt_ it, as if it were coming from some place deep inside of him, as if the lyrics were true and… _about_ somebody.

 _I’m wild again_ _  
_ _Beguiled again_ _  
_ _A simpering, whimpering child again_ _  
_ _Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I_

Todd turned his attention toward the bathrooms where Farah stood, staring at Dirk with an expression Todd had never seen before: her eyes were wide, her jaw was clenched, her eyebrows arched, and her face had been drained of color; Todd could only suspect he looked similar, except his mouth was _hanging open._

No one expected this. Literally no one. Possibly not even Dirk, who still seemed very unsure of himself. Why should they have expected it? It’s not like they’d ever heard Dirk _sing_ before — it’s not like it had ever even _come up_ in a conversation.

 _Couldn't_ _sleep_ _  
_ _And wouldn't sleep_ _  
_ _When love came and told me I shouldn't sleep_ _  
_ _Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I_

And _suddenly_ Dirk’s eyes were open, and _suddenly_ Todd couldn't move because _suddenly_ those eyes were trained on him, those cold blue eyes…those broken blue eyes…those fucking _beautiful_ blue eyes, and something inside of Todd _broke,_ split open with a deafening _crack,_ and he was surprised no one at the bar heard it.

 _Lost my heart, but what of it?_ _  
_ _He is cold I agree_ _  
_ _He can laugh, but I love it_ _  
_ _Although the laugh’s on me._

Todd had to lean back and grip the stool for support, and conversely, Dirk leaned forward, gripping the microphone and shifting his legs, some tension leaving his body as he allowed more emotion into his voice, his words, his face and body language. Todd was slowly becoming more and more aware of the _list_ of things he’d missed.

 _I’ll sing to him_ _  
_ _Each spring to him_ _  
_ _And long for the day when I’ll cling to him_ _  
_ _Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I_

Todd spent a moment during the instrumental break to think — actually _think_ — about what the fuck was going on. Why was it that whenever they went _anywhere,_ a fucking _karaoke bar_ for example, shit always went either horribly wrong or mind-bogglingly _weird._ Todd wasn’t quite sure which category this incident slipped in to, but something inside of him said that if he were to keep _listening_ and stop _thinking_ and maybe, just _maybe_ follow his gut, he would have an answer. Whether he would be happy with that answer, time could only tell.

_Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I…  
_

_I've_ _seen a lot_ _  
_ _I mean I lot_ _  
_ _But I’m like sweet seventeen a lot_ _  
_ _Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I_

Yes, they _had_ seen a lot, Todd realized. Especially Dirk — oh, the amount of _shit_ that man has seen could turn your hair white. Yet… _somehow_ …Dirk had maintained his _own_ hair color. His dark…rich… _gorgeous_ hair color, so befitting of such a _perfect_ head of hair. Soft, thick hair that Todd had gotten away with touching once or twice, especially when he had been in the hospital for his concussion. Then, he could say things and do things and blame it on the injury or the medicine, so he had (of course) taken advantage of that, and reached forward to slide his fingers through Dirk’s hair when he had been kneeling next to the bed telling him about how the case had progressed and how it was harder without Todd there.

Todd hadn’t exactly wanted his action to _mean_ anything, it was just…Dirk was there, and he must have just showered and not put any product in his hair because it was so fluffy, and he was just… _kneeling_ there, prodding at the blanket on Todd’s bed and talking about the case: how Farah had taken down Drake the second she heard what he had done, how Talitha had tried to choke Dirk, how the dog had tried _yet again_ to rip off his leg and _this_ time had managed to “rip a bloody hole in my _good_ trousers!” It was all so nice and Todd just...reached over and ran his hand through Dirk’s hair, starting at his hairline and running all the way back, sliding it down the nape of his neck, cupping his head, and then back up the side of his head, his fingers brushing Dirk’s temple ever so gently. He hadn’t meant anything by it, but _God_ had he _loved_ the way Dirk’s eyes had fluttered closed and he’d let out a shaky sigh (that _may_ have been just bordering on a moan — Todd couldn't quite recall) and leaned into Todd’s touch, turning towards his hand and brushing his lips against his pulse point.

“You won’t remember this, right?” Dirk had asked warily, looking up at Todd from half-lidded eyes, his breath warm against Todd’s hand.

“Remember what?”

_“Fantastic.”_

_Lost my heart, but what of it?_ _  
_ _My mistake, I agree_ _  
_ _And he can laugh but I love it_ _  
_ _Because the laugh’s on me_

The lyrics brought Todd back from his short period of reminiscence, and by God was he glad they had, because Dirk’s countenance had changed so drastically it almost made Todd want to cry with relief. He seemed so much more relaxed, but there was something else in his eyes now, something that Todd could see — no, something he could _feel_ from this far away, something that made his stomach burn more ferociously than any alcohol ever had, and possibly ever would.

He wanted to be up there with Dirk, be near him — no, he _needed_ to be near him, be beside him, in front of him, _on_ him. He needed his hands to be in Dirk’s hair and his lips to be on his and…

And suddenly this situation filed itself under the “mind-bogglingly weird” category, and Todd realized he had no problem with that. He had killed two birds with one stone, two questions answered with one relentless stream of consciousness.

 _I’ll sing to him_ _  
_ _Each spring to him_ _  
_ _And worship the trousers that cling to him_ _  
_ _Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I…_

Practically the entire bar stood up and cheered, toasting Dirk with half-full (and too-full) beers. People were screaming their praise, demanding an encore, and some people were…screaming at him to take off his clothes?

Despite all of the strange demands being shouted at him, Dirk’s gaze stayed locked with Todd’s, even as he got down from the stage (much to the disappointment of his new fans) and began to walk over. Todd leaped to his feet, stumbled slightly, then ran to meet him halfway.

They practically ran into each other, but deep down inside, Todd knew that was what he had wanted. He wanted to be flush with Dirk’s body, and perhaps that was due to the alcohol or maybe to the fact that the guy had just _performed a song for him and about him,_ but by Christ did he _need_ it.

He balled Dirk’s jacket up in his fists and met his gaze, panting for a reason he wasn’t quite clear on.

Dirk flinched away from his touch, and stared down at him with those damned _eyes._ Two piles of broken glass, glittering shards that would cut you if you got too close, and Todd wanted to scream at the sight of them.

“Todd, I—”

“It _was_ my fault, wasn’t it?” Todd said vaguely, his words heavy in his mouth. “It _was_ my fault — I _was_ supposed to apologize.”

“No, it’s—”

“Shut up, Dirk. For once in your life, _please_ shut up.” A little harsher than he had intended, but it certainly silenced his friend. “I was being so _stupid,_ wasn’t I? I was totally ignoring you, a-and I was just…”

Dirk reached up and placed his hands over Todd’s, peeling them from his shirt and offering Todd a weak smile. “I’d like more of those little shots if you don’t mind, Todd,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse from what Todd _hoped_ was the singing. “If you’ll excuse me—”

“No, Dirk, _please,”_ Todd stammered, stumbling after his friend and catching his wrist, pulling him back. “Shots are good — believe me, I _know_ — but I have to say this, I—”

“Todd,” Dirk began slowly, his eyes trained on the peanut shells that littered the floor, “do you remember…when you were in the hospital…when you…”

Todd gave Dirk’s wrist an abortive tug. “I…Bits and pieces, really,” he said, feeling as if he were wading into icy water. The creeping blush that spread across Dirk’s face would have been irresistible under any other circumstances, but here and now, Todd raced to explain himself in hopes of easing his friend’s embarrassment. “No, wait, I remember…I remember you talking to me,” he began, choosing his words carefully. Dirk shot him a sidelong glance, and he took that as encouragement to continue. “I remember you talking about the case, and I remember that you were wearing my Mexican Funeral t-shirt and your… _green_ jacket, yeah, a-and…”

Apparently, he had said every wrong thing, because Dirk was turning to walk away and Todd’s heart was plummeting and he decided to _act_ , follow his gut and _act_  by tugging on Dirk’s arm hard enough to send him tumbling back, spinning around to look at Todd and gasping when their bodies were pressed together.

“I remember…doing this,” Todd said quietly, wondering if Dirk even heard him, but it didn’t matter because he was snaking his fingers through that mass of _perfect_ hair and Dirk’s eyes were closed and he was _shuddering_ and _sighing_ and leaning into Todd’s touch again, placing his hand over the back of Todd’s.

“Is that…is that _all_ you remember?” Dirk asked shakily, lacing their fingers together.

Todd swallowed, his brows furrowed contemplatively before he gave a tentative nod, wondering what Dirk _really_ wanted — the truth? Or another one of his infamous lies?

Dirk opened his eyes long enough to see Todd’s nonverbal response before he closed them again, pressing his lips against the heel of Todd’s hand. “That’s what I thought,” he whispered, and the way he said it…it wasn’t cross or in an _I told you so_ manner — it was heart-wrenchingly despondent, and Todd wanted to spend the next hour, next day, next  _week_ diving into his ocean of obscure memories, trying to find anything, _anything_ from that day that he had forgotten. His concussion didn’t seem all that worth it anymore.

“No, Dirk, wait!” Todd pleaded, and this time when he jerked his arm and pressed their bodies flush together again, he wove his fingers into Dirk’s hair and pulled his head down, smashing their lips together in a sloppy and somewhat painful kiss, but the initial sting of teeth-clashing-lip was completely disregarded when Dirk moaned against Todd’s lips, and oh, Todd would probably _kill someone_ to hear that again. Luckily, it turned out such extreme measures were unnecessary, and that all he needed to do was pull on his hair, and _oh,_ he was _doing it again,_ moaning like kissing was the most intimate thing, his hands cupping Todd’s face and pulling him closer (which was difficult unless Todd were to actually step inside of him).

 _“Todd,_ I—” Dirk began, but whatever he wanted to say or was about to say was irrelevant, especially when Todd could be pinning him against the wall — which was exactly what he _wanted_ to do, which was exactly what his gut told him to do, which was exactly what he did, and he got another desperate noise from Dirk in response. Oh, how he wanted to explore _every possible way_ he could get those noises out of him, but he figured testing it out right here in the bar (with a handful of people cheering them on, he just realized) wasn’t the best idea.

Todd had read somewhere once that if you wanted to stop time, all you had to do was kiss someone, and goddamn, how _right_ they were. When he was this close to Dirk — so close he could feel _and_ hear his heartbeat — time froze as if he had paused it on a stopwatch, and nothing else mattered — not the residual burn of liquor in his throat or stomach, not the people telling them to get a room (and the people telling them to fuck right there), not Brittany the big-titty-bartender, not Drake-the-doppelganger or Alisha-the-wife or Talitha-the-cousin or Barney-the-Saint-Bernard —  _nothing_ else mattered. Nothing else existed. When he kissed Dirk, they were the only two people in the _universe,_ and Todd found himself wondering why they hadn’t been doing this all along.

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered was _he._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was fUn, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! One more to go, and how _appropriate_ for the holidays it is going to be!  
> Also, what _happened_ in the hospital??? Will we ever know????


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